


I Gotta Get Better

by whisperingwind



Series: epilepsy 'verse [4]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Epilepsy, Fluff, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Neurological Disorders, Protectiveness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-11-02 12:21:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10944405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whisperingwind/pseuds/whisperingwind
Summary: His voice is detected as a whisper, yet Louis understands every word of it, alongside the petrified whimpering coming from his boyfriend. “You alright? Harry? H? It's alright, shh, it's alright. Louis’s coming right now.”The insanity flourishes, reporters shove past one another for a picture of the helpless One Direction member, whom they’ll be paid a large quantity for given they achieve broadcasting the exclusive first.Or, while still in One Direction, and in the middle of an argument, Harry has a seizure, but Louis never hesitates to help.Title from "Meet Me In The Hallway" by Harry Styles





	I Gotta Get Better

Liam nudges Louis’ leg, offering him a smile. He places his hand over the microphone, leaning over to whisper a bit of encouragement to Louis, “Don't worry about it, you know the two of you always come back together.”

“It was bad. I've never heard him yell like that before. He threw his fucking shoes at me Liam, like I was a dog or something.” Louis replies, peaking around Liam and Niall to focus on Harry. He’s still visibly upset, despite presenting himself in a thrilled fashion. A grin dances across his lips and he laughs between words of banter with a female reporter. “And I mean, maybe I shouldn’t have started swearing at him, but he’s a horrible listener. He wouldn't even let me get one word in.”

“What even started it?” 

Louis sighs, “I told him I was taking a trip to Australia with Lottie and her boyfriend, and...well I guess it's during our anniversary, and he had all these plans for the weekend. I tried to tell him to reschedule it, and then it escalated from there, and quickly. I think he took it out of proportion if I'm being honest.” 

Liam starts to speak, but is interrupted upon an interviewer directing a question their way, asking them of their writing credits on the latest album.

Louis can see the way Harry’s hands are folded on the table, veins popping from the pressure of being clenched. He’s media trained better than the rest of him, considering the amount of questions he's asked about his sexual preferences, personal life, and lifestyle choices. 

“Harry.” Zayn whispers, touching his shoulder. “You alright? You’re looking a little pale.” 

“Threw up in the bathroom, but I think it’s just nerves. I popped one of my anxiety pills.  I’m feeling a little better.” he replies. The aching started with his stomach, but now his head is feeling a bit odd and he’s sure he’s running a fever. 

Perhaps feeling poorly is the reason he snapped at Louis for something that wouldn’t otherwise matter. Louis caught him at the wrong second with contradicting news and it made him unbelievably angry, so angry he wasn’t able to control himself from yelling at Louis. 

“Your head’s alright though, yeah? Nothing out of the ordinary?” he pushes. 

Harry shakes his head. “Really, I’m fine. My fight with Louis’ got me a bit scattered is all.” 

“Don’t let it get to you. You know how it is. He’ll be over it soon enough.” he reassures, patting his back before withdrawing. 

Even Niall has his eyes on Harry as if broadcasting concern without verbally expressing it. Harry nods at him, forcing a smile. He appreciates his bandmates’ concern, but truly, it’s not necessary right now. He’s fine. He should be allowed to feel a bit poorly and a little anxious without people jumping down his throat.

“So, Harry, what’s with all this talk of you leaving the band to pursue a solo career?” A reporter asks, smiling devilishly at him. 

“I...um,” Harry swallows, so thick it’s picked up by the microphone, then hesitates for a moment. “It’s...like...um.” He’s having trouble producing a cohesive thought. 

“I think what he means is he’s not going anywhere. He’s here to stay. Right, H?” Niall answers for him, slouching an arm around his shoulders. 

“Um...ye-yeah.” he stutters, a sudden flash of heat crossing over him. He pulls on the collar of his shirt with one hand while his other reaches for his glass of water, but he's unable to curl his fingers around the cup. A strong smell of gasoline is in the air, strong enough for him to taste in his mouth, and he clears his throat. “I...I need a- a moment.” he mumbles, sliding out of Niall’s grip.

Louis looks down the table at him, eyebrows furrowed. He doesn’t say anything as he watches Harry push the chair back and begin to rise to his feet. Pulling his attention away from him, he looks down at his clasped hands. 

Many reporters start shouting questions at him, demanding to know why he’s leaving the conference. He doesn’t answer, instead gives a sharp inhale. Louis doesn’t look his way again until hearing the loud thumps from Harry dragging his feet as he walks.

And unfortunately, as soon as he turns his head to look at Harry, he's greeted with the unnerving sight of him crumpling to the floor. Opposite of a graceful dancer, his knees fold inward, gravity coercing him to plummet. 

It feels as though time is frozen in the few seconds Harry transforms from successful multi-millionaire star Harry Styles to Harry Styles, residential patient rendered by epilepsy. 

In the moments it takes for Harry to slam against the unforgiving linoleum, he attempts to find equilibrium with his hands thrusted in front of him, then Zayn reaches for him, as if able to pull him onto his lap with an agile swoop. 

“Shit, is he okay?” Liam asks, standing to catch a better glimpse of where Harry has quite literally collapsed.

Once Louis comprehends what’s occurred, it seems everyone else in the room has as well. Chaos ensues as representatives and journalists flock towards the front of the conference room, screaming questions at no singular member. A molted version of flesh tones and bright flashes blind him instantly.

Zayn drops to his knees beside Harry before Louis is capable of pushing past his shocked bandmates. The microphone yields a few of Zayn’s hushed words of reassurance. 

His voice is detected as a whisper, yet Louis understands every word of it, alongside the petrified whimpering coming from his boyfriend. “You alright? Harry? H? It's alright, shh, it's alright. Louis’s coming right now.” 

The insanity flourishes, reporters shove past one another for a picture of the helpless One Direction member, whom they’ll be paid a large quantity given they achieve broadcasting the exclusive first.

Louis slips out of his chair and crawls to the other side of the table, rather than allowing his apprehensive facial expression and body language to be violated anymore. 

Harry’s clenched teeth are the first detail he notices, and as if that’s not enough, a little drop of blood seeps past his lips. “Shit, shit, shit.” he chants under his breath, hesitating above Harry. 

Instantaneously, Harry meets Louis’ eyes, and he tries to utter his name, but his mouth won't function as he wishes it to, instead loud cries explode past his lips. “Shh Harry. You've got to quiet down love, okay? Shh, shh, it's gonna be alright. Let's get you out of these wires.” 

“He hit his head.” Zayn says, focusing on Louis’s face.

“How hard?”

“He hit his head, shit.” Zayn repeats as though he can't fathom it. “I - he came down so fast.” 

Louis doesn't say another word regarding it rather turns his attention back to his fiancé. “It's alright, Harry.” Though his soft voice does nothing to comfort Harry. 

In fact, it agitates him further, causing the cries to intensify into frustrated sobs, and Louis knows the microphones are picking up every noise. “It's alright babe, you're okay, shh. I’m right here, I need you to relax for me. It's gonna be okay.”

Veins are popping out of his neck due to how hard he's currently staining. His head is turned, eyes glued shut, as he makes an attempt to clamber off the floor. “Harry, no. Babes you’ve gotta stop, it's gonna make it worse. Shh, it's alright love, it's alri-”

The words aren't entirely out of Louis's mouth, and Harry’s vomiting, retching loudly and profusely. Zayn shies away ever so slightly at the sight of puke, and adjusts his focus onto his own lap. 

“It's okay, babe, it's okay.” He touches Harry’s forehead with the back of his hand, instantly feeling how clammy he is to the touch. “Shit, feels like you've got a fever. Open your eyes for me.”

Harry doesn't.

“Harry love, c’mon,” Louis encourages, patting his cheek, “can you open your eyes for me?”

Harry flutters his eyes open, and Louis can immediately tell his pupils are dilated. “He might be concussed. Someone needs to ring for a medic, and I need towels.” Louis calls over his shoulder, hoping either Liam or Niall tend to his demands. 

Meanwhile, their security has entered and taken action, attempting to block off the main stage from the press. 

Slapping at Louis’ hands, Harry starts screaming at him, though they aren't consistent words, rather a slur of incomprehensible mumbles. “I'm sorry, love. I won't touch you anymore, no more, I won't touch you again.” he promises, pulling his hands away. It's a lie, he has to untangle Harry’s legs from the microphone and camera cords he pulled down with him when he fell. 

He's wet himself on top of being ridiculously stiff, almost like rigamortis, which makes it a bit more of a hassle for Louis to guide his legs out of the wires. He wants to touch himself, pulling at the crotch of his jeans, whining as his fingers fumble to undo the zipper.

“No, love. Harry, stop, it's okay, leave it be.” Louis whispers, gently moving Harry’s leg to slide the wire away, though Harry cries in protest. 

He’s in the midst of trying to untangle him when the seizing starts, and the severe convulsions spiking through Harry’s limbs leave Louis with no choice but to sit back on his heels. “It's alright sweetheart, shh it's alright.”

Harry’s tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth as he trembles against the floor. “You're okay, hush, it's okay.” 

“A medic is on his-” Niall announces, words slamming to a stop in his throat upon seeing Harry struggle- “way.” he mumbles as an afterthought. He rubs the back of his neck, refusing to insert himself in the situation. 

Harry involuntarily rolls onto his side, muscles clenched, teeth grinding, his hips buck off the floor. Saliva rolls out of his mouth, past his lips, puddling on the floor. A choking noise prys it's way out of his throat, his head bobbing forward and slinging back. 

Louis slips a hand underneath Harry’s head, fingers and thumb curling inward slightly to cradle his head. “Stop seizing baby, shh, come back to me. It's alright. You've gotta try to come out of it Harry, please.”

Somehow, a reporter slips past security and begins to crouch in front of them, snapping pictures, flashes blinding the lot of them instantaneously. Louis’ mouth falls agape, he can't manage to produce the words to tell this invasive, belligerent man to get the  _ fuck _ away from them. 

“What the fuck do you think you're doing?” Liam shouts, appearing in Louis’ line of vision. “You think this is fucking funny? Seizures are funny to you?” The man’s camera goes airborne, only for Liam to grasp it at random with both hands, accidentally coercing it to flash a few more times.

His fist claims contact with the older man’s jaw. A thunderous crack sounds through the conference room, and the reporter stumbles backward, falling against the railing encasing the steps, trying to cradle his face. 

“Shit.” Zayn hisses, eyebrows furrowing. He's on his feet in mere seconds, racing past Louis to tend to Liam.

Louis’s eyes are wide. He's never seen Liam behave violently before, and now is not the best time for it. “Fucking hell.” he breathes, attempting to peel his eyes away from the scene of Liam hitting the cowering journalism.  

He doesn't allow him a chance to recover. Punch after punch is thrown, the impact clear as blood spews from the perpetrators face and he tries to block himself from Liam’s dynamic aim. 

Finally, Zayn clutches his arm, tugging him away from the lad. The two of them tumble to the floor.

Tangled in this Zayn’s grasp, Liam pulls away from him. “Get off!” he shouts, rising to his feet, and brushes his pant legs off. “Don't fucking touch me.” 

As irrational as he’s acting in this moment, Louis knows it’s because he was trying to protect Harry. He respects Liam’s worry, but seeing the broken camera and the man’s presumably broken nose, he doesn't know it was necessarily civil. 

Harry’s wheezing pulls Louis's attention back to reality. His eyes are open, though mostly the whites of them show, and he’s spitting up blood and saliva as he lays helplessly. 

Louis hates having to do it, but understands it's necessary. He extends his middle finger and pointer finger, forcing them stiff, then guides them into Harry’s mouth, clearing his mouth of the blockage. 

Harry’s lips curl around his fingers before he plucks them out of his lover’s mouth. 

“Here.” Niall crouches down beside him, offering a towel.

Louis uses it to wipe his fingers off, then wipes Harry’s chin and cheeks. “Welcome back. You're alright, sweetheart, I’m right here. It's okay.” 

Harry smushes his cheek to the floor, dilated pupils lethargically drifting as he tries to comprehend one fuzzy thought. His breathing is strained and heavy. “Shh, you're alright, you'll feel better in a few minutes.” Louis whispers, carding his fingers through Harry’s sweaty hair. 

It isn't three seconds later, and Harry’s vomiting again, so weak he can't pick his head up when doing so. “Oh no, let's get you sitting up, or at least try to freshen you up a bit.” Louis whispers, sliding one hand underneath Harry’s sweat saturated form. 

“He alright?” Niall asks, observing Harry’s ghostly complexion and gaunt cheeks. He doesn't look very alive, which can't possibly be a good thing, considering how lively he behaves mundanely. 

Louis shakes his head. “Not if he’s concussed.” he quietly groans as he attempts to lift Harry’s upper body to readjust him. He manages to shift Harry so he's laying on his lap, head lolled against his groin.  “Hand me a towel? He's got puke everywhere.” 

Niall reaches behind him for a towel, but flicks his wrist away from Louis when he tries to grab it from him. Instead, he wipes Harry’s face, and tries to rid his hair of it. 

“Do you know what your name is?” Louis asks, staring down at Harry. He's cross-eyed, peering at something beyond them. There's still a clump of reporters and cameras surrounding them, even as they're behind escorted away from the chaos. 

Harry doesn't answer him.

Louis curls a few strands of Harry’s brunet hair around his fingers. “Hey, do you know what your name is?” he asks again. 

Harry doesn't say anything, rather his mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. 

“Right, that's what I thought.” he sighs, moving his hand to rest on Harry’s cheek. “Just lay still and relax for me, okay?” 

Niall sets the towel to the side, observing Harry with a frown drawn onto his pale features. Harry resembles the likes of a wax figure rather than a living, breathing person. “It's okay H.”

Liam and Zayn walk over to them, and Louis glances in their general direction, but doesn't say a word. He doesn't feel as though scolding Liam is appropriate when his fiancé in a postictal daze, draped across his lap like a bloody rag doll. 

“How's he doing?” Liam asks, hand twisted around a piece of cotton from his shirt. His knuckles are clearly bleeding. 

Louis sighs, carding his fingers through Harry’s hair. “I think he's got a concussion.”

“Is that bad?” Liam asks.

“Well it's not good. Could bring on another seizure if we’re not careful.” 

Harry shifts on his lap, grabbing at the sleeve of Louis’ sweater. His hands fumble with it, then finally he manages to weakly grasp the rough material. He still doesn't speak, instead only tugs on the material. 

Louis sighs, touching his forehead once more. He’s awfully warm, like feverishly warm, and Louis definitely isn't comfortable with the sensation. 

“He looks a tad green in the face.” Niall comments. As he speaks, Harry’s mouth drops open and his eyes try to follow the noise. He briefly meets Niall’s eyes, and Niall smiles as best he can at his perplexed best friend. “You're alright, pet.” 

A few moments later, the medic Niall called for appears and steps between the lot of them, asking them to take a few steps back. “What's happened?” the medic asks. 

“He has epilepsy,” Louis replies, keeping his focus on Harry, “and he hit his head. I think he has a concussion. It doesn't usually take him this long to come out of it.”

The medic is patient, nodding as he listens to Louis explain the situation. “I'm going to take a look at his eyes with my penlight.” he announces, retrieving a small flashlight from one of many pockets. He pushes down on one end and a beam of bluish light shoots out the front. Before nearing Harry, he asks, “What's his name?”

“Harry.”

“Harry, my names Jeremy, and I’m going to have a look in your eyes, alright? I need you to stay still for me, okay?” Jeremy negotiates, then carefully peels one of his eyelids open, exposing his green irises. Though, as soon as the light nears Harry, he fusses, back arching as he fights the medics touch.

Louis presses down on his chest with one palm to keep him still which Harry doesn't seem to like in the slightest. “Stop, no. Harry, stop. Stop, shh, it's okay, stop. You need to relax, shh, it's alright.” 

“Could be a concussion. We’ll have to have a doctor look at him to be sure.” Jeremy decides upon seeing how dilated Harry’s pupils are. “I’m going to need to get him over to the emergency room. Might need an MRI depending on what the doctor says. If you can get him off the floor, then I won't have to bring a backboard in.”

“I don't-” Louis starts to say, but is interrupted by a perturbed sob from Harry. “Shh, it's okay. Don't cry love.” Louis supposes Harry doesn't even know why he's crying considering he isn't exactly capable of processing a clear thought.

Niall winces at Harry. These boys are his brothers and one of them feeling scared and hurt isn't easy to watch. “I'll give you a hand getting him up, Louis.” 

“Yeah?” Louis hesitates. 

Niall confirms. “Yeah, just tell me what you need me to do.”

“Alright, uh-” he starts to talk, but then stops himself upon noticing how Harry’s body clenches and he begins to dry heave, again. Though, he doesn't seem to have anything left in his system to throw up. He rubs Harry’s forearm, attempting to soothe him. “Oh, it's alright, love. You've gotta relax.” 

“Once he’s settled, I can administer something to help with his nausea.” Jeremy says as he searches through the small bag he's brought along with him. “I'm going to talk to my partner and bring the stretcher in so he doesn't have to move far.” he dismisses himself, disappearing out the conference room. 

Louis nods, then continues what he tried to tell Niall prior. “I’m gonna need you to grab his legs.” 

Niall hesitates, but curls his hands around the circumference of Harry’s ankles. “Just tell me when.” 

“Is there anything else you need?” Zayn asks, rubbing his jaw as his eyes float to Harry. He couldn't imagine being in such a state. 

“If you and Liam could go to our flat and grab a change of clothes for the both of us that would be alright.” Louis says, then takes a deep breath before adding. “And his meds, too. Should be on the kitchen counter somewhere.” 

Liam speaks before Zayn can utter a word, “We’ll meet you at the hospital then. Call if anything changes, yeah?” The two of them vanish from the hall, though Louis can hear Zayn’s muttered quips of worry. Harry's name falls from his lips a few times. 

“Help me get him sitting up.” Louis requests, squeezing the back of Harry’s neck in reassurance. 

Niall slips a hand under Harry’s back, slowly pushing him to sit up. As soon as the younger boy is sitting up, he presses the heel of his palm into his temple, eyes clenched shut. He curls in on himself, shrinking against Niall’s touch. 

“You're alright.” Niall whispers, rubbing small circles into the material of Harry’s shirt. “Louis’ gonna carry you.” 

A cohesive thought must cross Harry’s mind because he looks in Louis’ direction, still lacking total control over his eyes. Louis touches his cheek. “Your head is gonna feel so much better, love. Just a few minutes and you won't feel sick anymore.” He stands, shifting himself behind Harry, then bends down to slowly pull the younger lad into his arms. Carefully, he hooks both arms under Harry’s armpits, grabbing his left wrist with his right hand and his right wrist with his left hand. Harry slumps against him, his head lolling back against the trunk of Louis's body. “It's alright, babes.” Louis whispers, beginning to lift Harry further into a sitting position. “Niall grab underneath his knees, and then you're gonna help me lift him.” 

Niall does so, keeping a gentle yet firm grip on the underside of Harry’s knees. 

“Okay, on one,” Louis says, pulling Harry upward so he stays sitting up. “Three, two, one.” The two of them fall into action, lifting Harry with their backs rather than their legs, and a gasp falls from Harry’s lips. “You're doing so well, Harry, so so well.” 

Jeremy returns with the stretcher, and it’s quite easier for Niall and Louis to walk Harry over to it and lay him down across it’s length. It seems Harry starts to comprehend a bit more once loaded into the ambulance as he looks to Louis and stares at him as Jeremy prepares a intravenous needle.

“Do you reckon I can ride with him?” Louis asks as he stands beside Niall. 

Jeremy doesn't look up to answer, rather he nods, saying, “As long as you can keep him calm.” 

“Of course.” Louis turns to look at Niall, grabbing his shoulder. “I don't expect you to come to the hospital, but do you think you’ll be okay to leave without issues?”

Niall meets his eyes. “I'll be at the hospital after I talk to security.”

Louis doesn't have to say anything else. Niall walks back into the building, leaving Louis to climb into the back of the ambulance with Harry. 

Harry continues to stare at him, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed. Louis places a hand on his cheek, pad of his thumb brushing along his cheekbone. “Do you know who I am?” he whispers.

“No.” Harry mumbles, shutting his eyes. 

The ambulance skirts forward. Louis grabs Harry’s hand, interlocking their fingers. “That's alright. How's your head?” 

Harry doesn't answer him, instead his neck arches, and a cry leaves him as a set of spasms coerces his body to move against his will.

“Shit-” Louis starts to say-

Jeremy interrupts him as he empties a new syringe into the I.V. drip. “It’s just a small one. Most likely from hitting his head.”

It spans for only a few seconds, then his body relaxes, leaving him lax against the gurney. 

“Do you think it’s a concussion?” Louis asks, eyeing Harry as the younger boy glances around the ambulance. 

“I couldn’t possibly say.” Jeremy replies, then hesitates before continuing, “But I don’t think it’s anything to be too concerned about. Just a hard knock to the head.” 

Louis sucks his bottom lip between his teeth as he guides his attention back to Harry. The younger boy shifts his head to stare at him. “Hi lovey, you doing okay?” 

Harry furrows his eyebrows at Louis, and a slight gleam of recognition crosses his eyes before it’s gone again. Before Louis has the chance to speak to him again, the ambulance comes to a stop. “Okay, we’re gonna get him into a doctor’s care, and from there you’re gonna have to bargain with the nurses, right?” 

He nods in understanding, then does as they tell him to, climbing out of the ambulance and guiding himself to the lobby where he sweet talks a nurse into allowing him back to sit with Harry. It takes some time, but after introducing himself as Louis Tomlinson and mentioning concert tickets, she seems to ease up.

The younger boy more coherent when Louis draws the curtain back and steps into the waiting cubicle. A nurse must have helped him out of his fluid soaked clothes and change into the puke green gown he has on currently. “Hey…” Louis whispers as he approaches the bed.

“Hi.” Harry mumbles, eyes still a bit unfocused. The color in his face is still not flesh toned enough for comfort. 

Louis touches his face, cradling his jaw. “How are you feeling?” 

“Fuzzy.” Harry shuts his eyes. 

“I know love. Think you have a concussion.” he uses his other hand to brush Harry’s hair off his clammy forehead. “Do you know who I am this time ‘round?”

Harry hesitates. “Uh…” his eyes open and he looks over Louis for a second. “I- um, engaged. Don’t - don’t know your name.” 

“That’s alright, you hit your head really hard, H. I’m Louis.” He pulls away from Harry for a second to retrieve a chair. Dragging the chair to Harry’s bedside he takes a seat, and clutches his hand, thumb brushing against the tense skin of his fiance’s hand. “I think they’re gonna take you down for an MRI soon. Did the doctor say anything?” 

As if to make things less complicated, the doctor, presumably speaks from behind him, “I’ll be taking Mr. Styles down momentarily. My name’s Dr. Abbot,” he greets, shaking Louis’ hand, “I would just like to explain what’s going on. Before I prepare to move him, I’d like to inform you that he’s showing symptoms of the stomach flu which is what triggered the seizure. Given that the MRI comes back clear, I’d still like to keep him under observation until we can get it cleared up.” 

“I mean- it’s the flu. Is it normal to keep a patient under observation for that?” Louis asks.

Dr. Abbot doesn’t hesitate. “Given that Mr. Styles has epilepsy, it proves to be a complication if he can’t keep his oral medication down. I’d like to keep him on an I.V. and provide him with as many fluids as possible until we can manage the nausea and vomiting.” 

Louis glances at Harry, biting down on his bottom lip. He doesn’t say anything as Harry stares back at Dr. Abbot. It’s clear that he’s not comprehending what’s being said, so Louis doesn’t push it. 

“I’m going to take him down now, so if I could please have you wait out in the lobby. A nurse will grab you once he’s finished and settled in a room.” Dr. Abbot directs, nodding towards the door. 

Again, Louis doesn’t say anything. He leans in, kissing Harry’s forehead, then pulls away, exiting the small quadrant given to his fiance. 

He’s not by himself for long. In fact, he’s probably sat out in the lobby, head deep into his phone, for about ten minutes before the lads come barreling into the elongated seating section, incredibly conspicuous. Liam hands him a folded stack of clothes with three prescription bottles bundled in a plastic bag laying on top. “How’s he doing?” he asks, sitting beside him. 

Zayn sits on his other side and Niall beside him. “They took him in for an MRI, but he’s gotta stay a night or two anyways. He’s got the flu.” 

“They have to hospitalize him for the flu?” Niall asks, confused. 

“If he can’t keep his medication down, then it’s going to cause more trouble than it’s worth.” Louis replies with a sigh. “I’ve gotta ring management, we’re gonna have to postpone everything for a few days.” 

Liam rubs the back of his neck. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll talk to them about it when they scold me for uh - the reporter incident.” 

“You’re wild for that, man. Can’t believe you did that.” Louis blurts out, fingers brushing against the wool of the sweater Zayn and Liam brought for Harry. “You really shouldn’t have.” 

“They treat it like a joke.” Liam snaps, not necessarily in regard to Louis. “It’s funny that Harry Styles has epilepsy, so fucking funny, so let’s continue to flash our cameras when he’s in the middle of convulsing and weeing himself on the floor. God, I don’t think those scumbags have brains. I mean - how heartless do you have to be to irritate the situation?” 

Zayn shakes his hair out. “Liam’s right, you know? Ever since we made the announcement, they haven’t even made the effort to take a step back. I’m sure the flashing doesn’t do anything to help Harry.” 

“I didn’t think he was ever gonna stop shaking.” Niall whispers, twiddling his thumbs together. “And then he stops, and it’s not...it’s not him, Louis. Not being able to talk or sit up isn’t Harry, and I guess...I guess that’s why I have such a hard time with it.” 

“That’s understandable.” Louis says, truthfully. “I mean it took me a good year and a half to accept it and I’m engaged to him. I get why it’s hard because you’re right. Harry Styles and Seizing Harry aren’t two of the same.” 

They speak for a few more minutes, then a nurse comes out to grab Louis. “He’s doing well. Dr. Abbot should be in to talk to you in a little bit, but it’s looking good. No signs of a serious concussion. Did you want me to take you to his room?” 

Louis nods. “Please.” He then looks to the lads. “I hate to do this to you lads, but I don’t want him to-” 

“Understood.” Zayn interrupts, speaking on all their behalfs. “We’ll be around tomorrow. Just give us a ring when he’s starting to feel better.” 

Louis is thankful for his friends at times like these. The nurse makes small talk with him as they walk through hallways and past rooms until finally stopping in front of an open door. Just by peeking inside, Louis can see Harry propped against the back of the angled mattress, eyelids shut and glossy, his body lax. “I’ll leave you to it. Just call for one of us if you need anything.” 

He thanks her, then steps inside the sterile smelling room. The closer he approaches, the louder Harry’s snores become. He doesn’t plan to wake him, rather he sits beside him, taking his hand in his own. 

The television plays a rerun of  The Great British Bake Off, and Louis watches attentively as one of the bakers attempts to make a simple souffle, but it caves in on itself, causing her a bit of uncalled for emotion.

He’s always been a bit addicted to the home network despite his inability to do anything handy or bake. He usually leaves those tasks up to Harry. He watches three or so more episodes before Harry starts to stir awake, though it’s not with ease, rather he’s struggling to sit up, so Louis quickly gets a hand underneath him and pushes him upward. 

“Harry, what's wrong?” he asks, and Harry just shakes his head, choking on a gag. So, Louis quickly reaches for the rubbish bin and holds it underneath Harry’s chin.

Then, he’s puking, or trying to as the only thing coming up is water. Louis places a hand on the center of his back, rubbing as Harry tenses and loudly vomits into the rubbish bin. “You’re alright, get it out love.” Harry has always been someone to become violently ill. His body doesn’t cope with being sick very well, so when he is poorly it’s the most extreme occasion.

As soon as Harry ceases heaving, Louis sets the trashcan aside, and pushes Harry’s hair from his face. “You alright?” 

Harry shakes his head, body trembling as he tries to catch his breath from the episode beforehand. His hands are clenched, also shaking. 

“Relax, love. What’s the matter?”

“Pissed myself.” Harry groans, teeth clenched. Louis’ eyes follow where Harry’s are focused and can’t help but notice the large wet spot saturated into the beige blanket. “Fuck, I pissed myself.”

“Shit, it’s alright. Don’t worry about it. I’ll grab a nurse to help you change.” Louis announces, standing from the chair to scout the hallway for a nurse. One notices him rather quickly, so Louis explains the situation to her. She asks him to stay in the hallway as she steps into Harry’s room, shutting the door behind her. 

Louis paces a few moments, hoping Harry isn’t too embarrassed. He shouldn’t be, he really shouldn’t be, after all he’s ill and running a fever and there’s been a lot of strain on his body today. 

The nurse returns with a soft smile. “Alright, he’s decent now. Just come get me if you need anything else.” 

He walks back into the room, and Harry, surprisingly, seems unbothered. “I fucking hate throwing up.” he says, staring at Louis as he walks closer. 

“I know you do.” he answers, standing over the edge of the bed. He touches Harry’s forehead with the back of his hand, and, of course, he’s clammy to the touch, still riding on a fever. 

“How many times have I thrown up?” Harry asks, curiously.

“Four, I think.” 

“Four?” Harry replies, bewildered. “Four bloody times, and I still feel like shit? Shouldn’t everything be out of my system?” 

“You’ve got the flu.” 

Harry furrows his eyebrows. “Well, why am I here then? It’s the flu. I could be at home, in bed, with you.” 

“You had a seizure, H, and you hit your head really hard. They thought you had a concussion, so they had to bring you in anyways.” 

“I...I had a seizure? Where?” he asks, staring at Louis with narrowed eyes. Louis doesn’t say anything. “Come on, Louis. Where did I have the seizure?”

“Later, Harry, we’ll discuss this later.” 

Harry isn’t having any part of it. “I have the right to know.”

“And I have the right to tell you not now. You need rest, okay? If you want to feel better, you need to lay back and take it easy. We can talk about it later.” 

“At least tell me was it after or during our fight? Or are we going to act like that didn’t happen either?” Harry snaps.

Louis scoffs, taking a step back. “Why did you have to bring that up? Can’t you just listen to me and relax? I’m telling you that you need to take a breather and recover from earlier.” 

“Man, piss off.” Harry hisses, turning his face away from Louis. “If you’re not gonna listen to me, then you might as well leave. Go home, I don’t need you here.”

“Harry…” Louis sighs.

“Leave.” 

Louis doesn’t bother arguing with him, rather turns on his heel and begins to sulk out of the room, but the sound of Harry puking again causes him to stop and turn around. “Shit.” he whispers, walking towards Harry’s bed again as the younger boy spits into the kidney dish. He brushes his hair from his face, tucking it behind his ears. “You’ve gotta relax. Please relax babe, you're gonna have to try to keep something down.” he coos. 

It isn’t surprising when Harry’s eyes tear up and he sniffles. “I hate throwing up.” he mumbles. 

“I know.” Louis continues to guide his fingers through Harry’s curly hair. “It’s alright, don’t cry. Maybe they’ll give you something else to help settle your stomach.”

Harry wipes at his eyes. “I’m sorry for snapping at you. I just don’t feel good.” 

Louis tucks Harry’s head against his chest. “I know sweets. It’s okay. You just need to take it easy, and stop straining. I don’t want you to have another seizure.” Harry nods, but doesn’t say anything, sniffling against Louis until the older boy lets him go. “I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep, okay? Then I’ll be back in the morning.” he sits down beside the bed once again. “But you need to relax.”

Harry lays back against the pillows, eyes staying on Louis. “Thank you for staying with me even though I always give you a hard time.”

“Not always.”

“Most of the time.” 

Louis laughs. “I won’t argue with you on that one, but you know what? It’s okay. I like when you keep me on my toes.” 

“Gee thanks.” Harry smiles. “At least I’m good for something.”

Louis kisses his forehead. “You're good for a lot of things. That's why I love you."  
  


**Author's Note:**

> is epilepsy verse ever really dead? no, but i'm working on a new story and coming back to this always seems to help me formulate ideas, so hopefully y'all enjoy it. feel free to leave me story suggestions below or on tumblr (troubleistheonlywaydown). also, feel free to give me a follow on twitter @terrestrialhaz (we can be super cool mutuals!) As always thank you for kudos, hits, bookmarks, recs, comments, all that jazz. Have a great day/night! Huge love and cheers. Emily.x


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